Discretion is the Better Part of Valor
by justsomeboy
Summary: Not saying anything is the traditional way of keeping something non-existant. But sometimes these things make themselves apparant anyway. Hwoarang and Lei will have to learn this the hard way. Chapter 4 uploaded. Lei angst ahead.
1. Days Like These

Discretion is the Better Part of Valor  
  
Part One.  
  
Attizzikah  
  
June 2004  
  
Days when Hwoarang woke up and didn't want to get out of bed were few and far between. Once or twice a year, at most.   
  
This happened to be one of them.   
  
Last night, an underground brawl with a group of men twice his size had caused his body to be sore, and his head to throb. He wasn't quite sure how he had made it home last night, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. All he did know was that his body ached and, with the way his stomach was clenching, he sure as hell wasn't going to try to eat anything.  
  
Curling on his side, Hwoarang stared at the water-stained wall, coughing lightly. He'd be lucky, he decided, if none of his ribs were broken.   
  
Sitting up slowly, he groaned as a sharp pain lanced through his side. Oh yes. Those would be broken ribs. Looking down, he winced at the inky bruises that laid across his torso.   
  
"Damn."  
  
He cursed quietly, and tried to roll out of the bed, to find himself stopped by a small, compact body. His dark eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
  
"What the fu..."  
  
His eyes widened and he bit back an angry yell as he leaned over to face Lei Wulong, The cop looked more like he was passed out than actually asleep; blood decorated his bottom lip and his body was curled in on itself on the very edge of the mattress.   
  
"Wulong. Wulong, you bastard, wake up!"  
  
Hwoarang shoved the cop lightly on the shoulder, goading him to awaken. Lei only coughed violently and fell off of the mattress, which laid on the floor. Surprised, the Korean leaned over and choked in shock.   
  
Lei's chest was badly lacerated, his jacket doing a poor job of covering the torn and dirty skin. It seemed to have been torn by some kind of jagged edge, or that was what Hwoarang assumed, based on the flayed epidermis.   
  
"Oh shit,"  
  
Sitting up as best he could, the Korean boy moved to the edge of the mattress and the slowly waking Chinese cop.   
  
"Lei? Lei, are you all right?"  
  
"Mmn..."  
  
Was the only response as the older man curled in on himself, his face pinching into a scowl of pain.   
  
"Lei!"  
  
"What...?"  
  
Hwoarang forced himself over to the injured man, ignoring the pain in his ribs and the ache in his head as he gave the policeman the once over.  
  
"What the hell did you do?"  
  
He whispered more to himself than to his companion, moving to pull Lei back up on the bed, despite his angry mumbling.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing, Hwoarang? Let me go-"  
  
"Shut the fuck up, you ass, you're injured and bleeding all over my bed sheets."  
  
Growling, Hwoarang reached for the first aid box at the end of the bed, always there in case of an emergency. He yanked out a bottle of peroxide, several cotton balls, a needle, a pair of scissors, and thread.   
  
"What are you- Ah!"  
  
Lei yelled in pain as the peroxide hit the torn skin, his body arching violently off of the bed. Hwoarang threw himself over the Chinese man despite his body's screaming protests, throwing his legs on either side of his hips, pinning the large hands under his knees, effectively holding the cop down while he tried to clean the cuts.   
  
"Hold still, you bastard, hold still!"  
  
Lei struggled to do as he was told, looking at the Koreans face and knowing he was in pain as well. Breathing heavily and tightly, he stayed as still as he could while Hwoarang cleaned and stitched the cuts, hissing in pain as the younger man tied the last thread.  
  
Satisfied with himself, Hwoarang let himself lean foreword and gave a hitched, muted wail as his ribs ground together, his arms coming up to hold his torso tightly. Lei could only watch as the younger man toppled over to the side, his face contorted in pain.   
  
"Hwoarang?"  
  
"Shut the fuck up, Lei, and don't move, you'll tear the stitching."  
  
"But-"  
  
"I said shut up!"  
  
Hwoarang yelled, still wincing. His medical skills were fairly good, enough to be an on-sight medic for a few pre-tournament skirmishes, but he couldn't operate properly on himself. It angered him to no end that he couldn't stand to set his own bones, or sew up his own skin, but the sight scared him more than he would - or could - ever admit.   
  
Lei sighed lightly and sat up, wincing as the stitches pulled. He moved to loom over Hwoarang, looking seriously at the younger man.   
  
"Sit up, Hwoarang, wrap your arms around my neck."  
  
When the Korean boy didn't do as he was told, Lei jerked him up painfully, causing a pained yelp to escape the younger mans' throat. Lei forced the red head to hold on to his shoulders as he felt around the slender torso, looking for the broken bones. He found them, and set them, with lots of cursing, wiggling and muffled screams from the younger fighter. When he had finally finished, Lei reached into the box for a long wrap of medical gauze and a few ace bandages, which he wrapped around the young man's torso until he was sure that the bones wouldn't move and heal incorrectly. Only then did he lay the Korean down, looking down at him through his messy black hair. Hwoarang's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his mouth a pursed line as he struggled to breath calmly through his nose.  
  
"Oh stop being such a fucking tough guy, Hwoarang, tensing up will only make it hurt more."  
  
Lei's casual comment caused a glare, but the Korean didn't stop breathing through his nose, his lips closed tightly. The cop rolled his eyes and sighed, looking down at the younger man the way a father looks at his son.   
  
"Come on, brat. Relax. I won't tell anyone."  
  
Hwoarang's eyes snapped open as the words made him think of Baek. A piece of the past flashed in his mind and before he knew what was happening, he was taking choking breaths through his throat, his hand gripping Lei's tightly enough to break any normal mans bones. Lei just sat next to him, calm, and watched as he finally went limp with exhaustion, his fiery eyes slipping closed and his hand relaxing around Lei's own.   
  
Lei knew, somehow, that things between himself and the younger man had just changed drastically. He had said something that struck the Korean to the core, rocked him terribly, and he was almost afraid to find out what it was.   
  
end of the first piece, ne?  
  
don't kill me; characterizations   
  
are vague and probably OOC,   
  
but it wasn't that bad, was it?  
  
leave me commentary, please : ) 


	2. My Mind Can Rationalize

Discretion is the Better Part of Valor, part 2  
  
attizzikah  
  
june 22, 2004  
  
When Hwoarang woke again, he was alone on his bed. It was cold, but there was something draped over him, something big, and sweet-smelling, and... Leather?  
  
Sitting up, Hwoarang looked at Lei's jacket, draped over his torso by the older man, who was nowhere to be found. Grunting, Hwoarang tried to sit up, wincing in pain as he pulled at the bandages around his ribs.  
  
"Stupid bastard, who does he think he is, leaving his fucking jacket here like I'm his goddamned kid..."  
  
But as much as he muttered under his breath, Hwoarang was thankful, pulling the jacket up to his shoulders. His apartment was always cold, and he couldn't find time to go out and buy a heavier blanket than the one he had. Besides, the leather carried the sweet smell of cherry cigars, and whatever cologne Lei wore. It made Hwoarang sleepy.   
  
But the white carton next to the mattress piqued his curiosity, and he reached over to find plain white rice and a pair of chopsticks, with a note next to them. In poor, probably left-handed, judging from the slant, handwriting, it said, 'Brought you some food. You have nothing to eat, you may want to go shopping. I'll see you around.' Lei's signature was more of a curly line than actual lettering, but Hwoarang was grateful, nonetheless.   
  
He slowly ate the entire container of rice, careful of his ribs, and laid back on the mattress. What had Lei said last night that had upset him? He couldn't quite remember. All he could remember was that it reminded him of Baek, and it made his heart clench.   
  
"Baek..."  
  
Hwoarang sat up and stood, his body protesting as he headed for the door, Lei's jacket in hand. He may as well give it back.  
  
Heading for the door of his apartment, Hwoarang picked up his house keys, and left, the clock reading, 11:57pm.   
  
It wasn't hard to find Lei's home. Hwoarang simply headed for Chinatown, the one place that never slept, then asked people in the street. Once he got to the home he was directed to, he knocked softly, and waited.   
  
Lei appeared in the doorway soon enough, hair mussed and tangled, his eyes tired and face pale as he glared at the person who dared to disturb his rest.  
  
"Hwoarang, what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
He asked sharply, irritated at having been woken up.  
  
"I wanted to give you back your jacket."  
  
Hwoarang said in a semi-sarcastic drawl, a snide smirk plastered onto his face. The energy it took to make the expression was draining him.  
  
"You asshole, do you even know what time it is?"  
  
Hwoarang shook his head, feeling a little dizzy from the walk. Lei gave an exasperated sigh, and opened the door further to allow the disoriented Korean inside.  
  
"It's past twelve thirty."  
  
"Oh... Sorry."  
  
Lei raised an eyebrow at the mellow remark, looking the younger man over and deciding he needed more bed rest.   
  
"Come on, I'll show you the bedroom."  
  
Lei took Hwoarangs' hand and led him to a small room at the end of a hallway; the low bed in the corner looked warm and inviting, and Hwoarang could feel himself falling asleep in Lei's arms as they crossed the room.  
  
"Hey, at least hold still so you can get undressed, okay?"  
  
Hwoarang gave a small grunt and leaned heavily on the older man, obviously not caring that Lei, who was shorter than himself, was already struggling to hold him up.  
  
"Damn you, Hwoarang..."  
  
Lei lowered the young man to the bed, sighing. He looked him over, and started unbuttoning the Korean's windbreaker. He wasn't wearing anything underneath it, so Lei checked the wraps around the slender chest before carefully unlacing the boots, and finally, beginning to unbutton the military-style pants the Korean liked so much. Lei couldn't help but feel like a perverted fool as he did this, trying to rationalize it in his head. Look, he's injured, and it's not comfortable to sleep in jeans, I know that... Besides, who does he think he is, coming here in the middle of the night? He has no right to be here! ...But he is, so what the fuck. I may as well take care of him.  
  
Lei smiled fondly down at his charge as he pulled the rumpled covers up about his chest.  
  
Besides, it's almost like taking care of...  
  
Stopping his train of thought, Lei shook his head.  
  
No, no it's not like that... This is one street punk I'm not going to allow in. No way. He has to be gone first thing in the morning.  
  
The cop sighed heavily as he looked at Hwoarangs' peacefully sleeping face. It was so much like Liu Suhn, a Chinese street punk who had run away with Leis' heart almost twenty years ago. Liu was darker, and had black hair, but the feelings he had stirred in Lei were ones that Hwoarang also awakened.  
  
I'm so sick of falling for the one person I can't have...  
  
Lei sighed again, long and tired. He pushed his sleep-mussed hair out of his eyes, and smiled softly down at Hwoarang, who was blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his companions mind. Lei carefully leaned over his sleeping companion, much in the same way he had the night before, and gently kissed his forehead.  
  
"G'night, hot shot..."  
  
He whispered, pulling the blankets up closer.  
  
"See you in the morning."  
  
Standing slowly, Lei grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the bedroom, pressing a button on his cd player to allow soft Chinese new-wave weave through the room.  
  
nyo?  
  
how was that? i'm trying to make it move slowly, because if it moves too quickly, it feels stupid. oh, the ... Liu is my character, he is worthless, and has practically no use in this at all. i needed a street punk. he is one.  
  
laters .  
  
meg 


	3. If Only the Past Would Stay There

Discretion is the Better Part of Valor  
  
attizzikah  
  
july 11, 2004  
  
The sound of an alarm going off at seven woke Hwoarang. Yawning, he sat up and stretched his arms, looking around. He didn't remember where he was for a minute, and almost panicked. He relaxed, however, when he recognized the sweet scent of cherry cigars and a light musk that could only belong to Lei. With that thought, he yawned again and re-settled himself into the warm blankets. He hadn't gotten a good look at the room he was in the night before, and now, he was going to take advantage of the chance to gaze at Lei's private space.   
  
The bed he was resting on was in the corner of the room, beneath a tall window. The dresser against the wall at the end of the bed was small, and the closet next to that, even smaller. There was a small table in another corner of the room, covered in what Hwoarang assumed were work papers, and the floor itself was covered by a bluish carpet. Nothing decorated the walls, save a few photos and a painting, which hung above the small table. Hwoarang didn't bother trying to see what it was.  
  
"Jesus."  
  
The Korean said as he yawned again, trying to cover his mouth.   
  
"He's so boring."  
  
Standing up, the young man cradled his aching ribs and walked out of the bedroom and down the hall. He moved into the living room, and the sight that greeted him there was one that would forever stay in his memory.  
  
Lei was curled up sideways in a recliner in the corner of the room, his head tucked against his shoulder and the padding of the chair. One hand curled near his face, the other held a small blanket the cop had draped over himself. He looked so much like a teenager that Hwoarang had to smile, just a little. The smile faded, however, as he saw the gun held loosely in one hand, and the frowning expression on Lei's face.   
  
"Waking him up could be dangerous..."  
  
The Korean said quietly, before carefully walking towards his companion, saying just loudly enough,  
  
"Lei?"  
  
The cop shot up out of the chair, gun held tight in his right hand as the other went out to steady himself from falling backwards into the cushiony padding of the chair. Hwoarang backed up, afraid that Lei would shoot him.  
  
"Wulong! It's me, put that damned thing away!"  
  
He yelled, backing up further.   
  
Lei blinked for a moment, then shook his head in surprise. He had forgotten that Hwoarang was there, that the street punk had come to his home the night before to return the jacket he had left with him.  
  
"Ah, Hwoarang. Dubiqui."  
  
"You had better be sorry, pointing a fucking gun at me this early in the morning!"  
  
The younger man shouted, the look on his face at once exasperated and still a little afraid. Lei hadn't yet put his gun away, and it was still pointed in the direction of the wall against which Hwoarangs' back was turned.  
  
Lei shook his head and put his gun back in its' holster at his side, and moved to stretch his aching arms. He was really too old to be sleeping in a recliner in that position.   
  
Hwoarang cautiously moved to sit on the couch which was near the recliner, sinking into it with a pained hiss. Lei was immediately at his side.   
  
"Let me take a look at your ribs."  
  
Reluctantly, the Korean lifted his arms and moved forward, so Lei could see his entire torso. Lei's deft fingers moved quickly over the aching bones, eyes set and concentrated on what he was doing.   
  
Hwoarang watched Lei, with more than a little wonder. How was it, over the process of only a few days, that they had become so comfortable in each others' presence? Before, they would have been fighting like dogs over every little thing they could possibly argue about.   
  
"Why are you being so nice to me...?"  
  
The words slipped out of Hwoarangs' mouth before he could stop them, and he silently cursed himself as the detective looked up at him through a curtain of black hair.   
  
Lei thought for a moment before replying, looking straight into Hwoarangs' thin face.  
  
"You remind me of someone I knew once."  
  
He then turned back to the boys' ribs, finishing his inspection and deciding that the younger man would e fine in a few weeks, provided he didn't move too much. He told Hwoarang as much, and sighed as the teen just brushed him off and moved to lay down.   
  
How quickly he forgets that he is a guest in my home...  
  
Lei thought, before smiling slightly. Hwoarang was already asleep.  
  
I suppose that is just how his body heals. He just... Sleeps a lot.   
  
Running a hand through thick black hair, Lei made a face at the greasy feel. He walked to the bathroom, getting undressed and catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror above his sink.   
  
His age hadn't effected his form; he was still in top physical condition, despite that he had lost weight he couldn't afford. He was skinnier than he remembered, and his face more haggard, but he assumed it was just because of the stress from work.   
  
I'll be fine, I just... Have to shower, I feel so disgusting...  
  
Lei turned on the hot water and stepped into the shower stall, closing the magnetic door behind him. The steady thumping of warm water against his chest tickled, and as he turned around to soak his mass of hair, a memory came back to him, floating, unbidden, just below his consciousness.  
  
Liu massaged Lei's head gently, smiling as he did so. The slightly older man leaned into the touch, head dropping back to rest on Lius' chest. They kissed gently, with reverence, and they spoke vows, thoughtless, eyes-wide-open vows with words like eternity, too wrapped up in one another to see what was happening around them. To see the danger and inevitable destruction that hung over their heads like some twisted version of destiny.   
  
Lei shook himself out of memory, ignoring the ache in his chest. Liu was gone, for over twenty years, and yet his memory still plagued the detective; a wispy memory of short black hair and wild eyes and tan hands that knew his body better than even he did.   
  
Growling in frustration, Lei quickly washed his hair and body, getting out of the shower as quickly as he could. All enjoyment that usually came from cleaning himself was gone, and it was although the water was acid, that would not stop burning him.   
  
Grabbing a towel, Lei wrapped it around his waist, grabbing another to dry his hair as he walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. There he dried off as much as he could, and moved to get dressed. The simple blue jeans and black t-shirt were comfortable, and when he was done putting them on, Lei grabbed a hairbrush and began to run it through his wild mane of black wire. He brushed until it was smooth and pliable, and then braided it, to keep it out of the way.   
  
Running a hand over his sleepless face, Lei tried hard to smile. He had to at least try to be cheerful for the injured Korean, asleep in his living room.  
  
No matter how much it hurt.  
  
heh. wow i hate this part. i hope that it gave Lei a little more depth. but i don't think it did. however, i've never been a good judge of my own writing, most people like it, so... leave me a review, ne? construstive critism welcome. actually, asked for. 


	4. Simple Things Bring Back Memories

Part 4: Simple Things Bring Back Memories.  
  
July 12, 2004  
  
Walking back out into his living room, Lei sat in his recliner, pulling his legs up underneath him. He watched Hwoarang breathe quietly for a moment, before sighing and shaking his head.  
  
You're hopeless, Wulong Lei. Absolutely hopeless.  
  
Shifting in his seat, Lei moved to look out of the small window across the room. The view was nice, but it brought him no comfort this morning. His mind was too tangled with confusing emotions and long-repressed memories that he couldn't make himself enjoy it. He and Liu had sat here, once, when the apartment was new. There was no furniture, no heating. They laid on the floor, covered in Lei's blankets, watching the sun peek over the buildings and they had made love there, on the hard floor, endless kisses and passion that was beyond all words.  
  
"Mmn..."  
  
Hwoarangs' stirring was the only thing that snapped Lei out of his reverie; he was startled to see that it was nearly ten. He had been so lost in thought that all manner of time escaped him.  
  
"Lei?"  
  
The Korean said sleepily, and the detective had to clench an iron fist around his heart to keep it from fluttering softly at that sleepy voice calling for him.  
  
"Hai, Hwoarang?"  
  
Standing, Lei stretched his again aching joints with a loud groan of pain as his left shoulder made a sound he knew wasn't natural.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
Hwoarang asked, his eyes widening as he watched Lei walk over to the doorframe.   
  
"Fine, fine I just... I need to re-set my shoulder, is all."  
  
"What? And how do you plan on-"  
  
There was a sick crunch as Lei slammed his shoulder into the solid doorframe, followed by a moan of contentment.   
  
"Oh, that was just sick, Lei. That was just.... Ugh, that was gross."  
  
"You don't set your own bones, Hwoarang?"  
  
Lei replied with a chuckle, moving to sit down and rub at the sore muscle.   
  
"No, no I do not, thank you very much. I'd much rather have it done by a professional so there isn't any chance of me making it worse."  
  
Lei laughed a little, still rubbing at his shoulder. The pain gave him something to concentrate on besides his beautiful companion.  
  
Hwoarang watched Lei and moved a little to sit up, his ribs feeling much better than they had earlier that morning. Looking behind the chair Lei sat in, Hwoarang saw a picture.   
  
"Lei? What's that?"  
  
Lei made a soft questioning sound and turned around to see where Hwoarang was looking. The photo hanging on the wall behind him was one of himself, twenty-five years earlier, with a black and blue motorcycle and Bryan Fury on his own red and black Harley. He took the picture down and handed it to Hwoarang, who stared at it in wonder.  
  
"Hey, isn't this that guy from the tournament? What's his face there?"  
  
"Bryan Fury."  
  
"Yeah, Bryan!"  
  
Hwoarang made a face, handing the picture back to Lei.  
  
"He was a real asshole."  
  
The Korean caught the hurt expression on Leis' face, and rushed to apologize.  
  
"Shit, I'm sorry, Lei, I didn't mean..."  
  
"No, you're right, he's an asshole."  
  
Lei hung the picture back up, mind elsewhere as he spoke.  
  
"Just... Only one other person has ever put it so bluntly."  
  
He could remember it as clear as day. Liu had looked him straight in the eyes and told him that he was an idiot for even associating with Bryan Fury. Lei, in a fit of defiance, had told Liu that if he didn't like the way Lei was living his life, he could just leave. He didn't need the guidance of a know-it-all street punk who probably didn't give a damn about how he felt anyway, only cared about having secure food and shelter.  
  
The tears that had wells up in Lius' eyes at that drunken statement would haunt Lei for the rest of his life. The next morning, he woke to find all of Lius' things gone, no note, no phone calls, no nothing. Nearly five years of an unbreakable bond thrown out because Lei couldn't stop himself from drinking and ruining his own life.   
  
And Lei hadn't learned his lesson the first time. He kept drinking, and drinking, until he was put on suspension leave for his behavior. During those three weeks Lei had locked himself up in his room, and refused to eat or drink nearly anything. Anyone who tried to get through to Lei had a nasty surprise coming, whether it be a fist to the face or a string of well-chosen words that knocked them to their knees.  
  
Those were the days that Lei regretted the most.  
  
"Lei?"  
  
Hwoarang had watched Lei's eyes glaze over with thought, and watched them become unfogged, nearly five minutes later. Even he knew that something was bothering the detective, something deep-rooted and painful, because he himself had worn that expression more than once in his short lifetime.  
  
"Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, Hwoarang, what is it?"  
  
The response was one that reminded the young Korean of Baek, how his teacher would often meditate, and a young Hwoarang would walk up and begin speaking to him, unknowing as to what his teacher was doing.   
  
"I..."  
  
Hwoarang re-thought what he was going to say, and replied,  
  
"I'm hungry. I think I'm gonna go get some food."  
  
"You're not going anywhere, not with damaged ribs. Heihachis' men could be anywhere. Besides, I have food in the apartment. It's not like I'm some irresponsible teenager who needs to go shopping every day."  
  
The term 'irresponsible teenager' was aimed at Hwoarang, but only in jest, and the Korean laughed heartily.   
  
"Yeah, but you are an old man who probably hasn't gone shopping in years!"  
  
Lei chuckled, and graced Hwoarang with a sweet smile.   
  
"You stay here, all right? I'll get some food out."  
  
Hwoarang only nodded approvingly.  
  
how was this one? i really like this chapter, it shows how my version of lei came to be as he is; i hope it also made lei's characterization clearer for you, the reader.   
  
slang from my side of the country. "what's his name?"  
  
-meg 


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